Yellow hair
by totalphangirl
Summary: what if Mrs. Lovett never screamed? what if Sweeney went ahead with killing Johanna and THEN noticed she was actually his daughter! dun...DUN...DUUUUUN! rated T because BE WARNED, IT IS GRAPHIC AND ALSO PRETTY SAD! I WARNED YOU!


'Come for a shave, have you lad?'

'No, I-' the boy tugged down on his cap of hair and curled himself up small. Sweeney ignored him, and heaved him out of the trunk by his coat lapel.

'Everybody needs a good shave…' he muttered, more to himself than to the sailor boy. To his reluctance, Sweeney heaved the child into his barber's chair with a clatter and raised his razor aloft with that manic look in his eye. The boy's breaths heaved in and out. To his surprise, Sweeney found he could not plunge the razor into this boy's throat. The once attractive blood coating his arms and face now became bland and colorless, and the thrill of the kill seemed tedious and dull. There was something else Sweeney felt; he felt resistant to murder the child. He actually felt remorse and repentance as he looked into the girlish blue eyes that were flecked with fear. _'Come on,_' he told himself. _'One more kill, and then you can_ _stop.'_ Sweeney's hand came down with much less force than he had intended. He pondered for a moment and then slowly slit the boy's white throat. His high-pitched, feminine breaths merged into low, involuntary chokes and gargles. As Sweeney stood watching the boy he felt no longer overwhelmed with the titillation of murder, instead sorrow and regret for what he had just done. The boy's eyes glistened with tears and his high whimpers made Sweeney feel a great discomfort inside. He looked into the eyes of the boy and squinted. The moonlight adjusted to the dim room and the fog of triumph lifted from the barber's black eyes. The boy's girlish face loomed into view. The boy had pale skin and refined cheekbones, as well as large azure eyes laced with pale eyelashes and a pink puckered mouth that was dribbling blood. 'No,' Todd whispered. 'It can't be…' he swung up an arm and tore off the cap hiding the boy's head. Waterfalls of long, lustrous yellow hair cascaded over his shoulders and to his horror, Sweeney realized that the boy was actually a girl. Sweeney dropped the bloodied razor with a clunk and backed away. He knew that white skin and those sharp cheeks; he only had to look into the cracked mirror to know. And as for the eyes…

The girl coughed and whimpered, tears streaking down her neck and cutting little dashes through her own blood. 'J-Johanna?' Sweeney whispered, his voice breaking. 'Oh God…oh _God!'_ Sweeney darted towards his daughter 'JOHANNA!' he scooped the girl up and crushed her neck forwards, tightening the slit in her throat and causing less blood to leak from the wound. He crouched on the floor and mounted his daughter's head on his shoulder, stroking her pale yellow hair and looking into her dying eyes. 'Don't die, don't die!' he whispered, rocking backwards and forwards. Johanna gave one last jerk before falling limp into her father's bloodstained arms. 'Johanna?' Todd whispered. He shook her shoulders. 'NO!' he moaned in despair, keeling over her lifeless body and sobbing. 'NO!' he pressed his mouth onto her forehead and kissed her there, slowly stroking her cheeks and hair. 'What have I done?' he wept, clutching her shoulders and cradling her. Blood pooled on the wooden floor, dark and garish. He brought up a bloody hand and gently sealed her eyelids over her dim blue eyes. Lifting her gently into his arms, he crawled onto the barber's chair and held her there, the two entangled in a gruesome embrace. Sweeney reflected on all he had done: he'd killed his daughter. He'd killed his own daughter. He'd murdered that sweet little infant with dimpled cheeks and tufts of golden hair, he'd killed the one precious thing left in his life, the one thing that had got him out of bed in the morning and the one thing left that he was willing to die for. He looked down at her face, thinking of how he'd hungered for that image for fifteen years. 'What have I done, what have I done?' he muttered again. Once Johanna was tightly clasped in his arms his hand snaked into the sheath tied across his belt and his nimble fingers unfolded the razor. He kept looking down at his child, and then pressed the pivot of the razor into his neck and allowed it to slice forcefully. He managed to slash at his throat enough to allow streams of blood to trickle out onto his clothes. In his last seconds of life he simply stared lovingly at Johanna, at the vision he had yearned for, for so long.

**THE END**


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